


hope has a place

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Codas [31]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s14e08 Byzantium, First Kiss, Gen, M/M, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Texting, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 06:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16969449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: Ten minutes. Ten minutes of staring, and Dean can’t make any sense of the note. No matter how many times he reads it over, silently repeating the words to himself, he just can’t understand why Castiel would—why he isn’t home. Jack is alive, alive and healthy and no longer coughing up blood, and mom and Bobby are already on their way back, ready to welcome them all back home.If anything, Castiel should be overjoyed, but he’s… gone. And Dean can’t shake the chill seeping into his bones, just from the loss of his presence, the absence of his touch.





	hope has a place

_I need time. Don’t call, I won’t answer._

_~Castiel_

 

Ten minutes. Ten minutes of staring, and Dean can’t make any sense of the note. No matter how many times he reads it over, silently repeating the words to himself, he just can’t understand why Castiel would—why he isn’t home. Jack is alive, alive and healthy and no longer coughing up blood, and mom and Bobby are already on their way back, ready to welcome them all back home.

If anything, Castiel should be overjoyed, but he’s… gone. And Dean can’t shake the chill seeping into his bones, just from the loss of his presence, the absence of his touch. “You stupid son of a bitch,” he says in defeat, dropping his head. Pushing his chair back, Dean takes the note and shoves it haphazardly into the pocket of his robe. _He’ll be back_ , he thinks, wandering to the empty kitchen. This early in the morning, the only things awake are the birds and Dean; the rest of the bunker, he can’t speak for.

Coffee tastes bland on his tongue, like drinking steamed water straight. Faintly, his hands shake, not from caffeine, but the deep-seated anxiety that's never quite faded. _Gone_ , his brain continues repeating on an endless loop. No matter what he does, all he can think of is Castiel, knowing somewhere in the country, he’s out there, alone in the front seat of a Dodge Ram, driving off into the sunset.

 _Alone_.

Swallowing, Dean’s throat clicks, eyes welling without his permission. Punching the wall won’t do any good, nor will smashing the mug in his hands; his wounds don’t heal quite as quickly anymore, not as fast as he’d like them too, and the last thing he needs is a broken finger just because his anger got the better of him. Leaning against the countertop, Dean stares down into his half-full mug, watching his reflection. The water ripples every few seconds; no matter how many times he blinks, he can’t shake the sting in his eyes, the ache blossoming in his chest.

 _He really is gone_. And this time, he doesn’t know what’s worse—losing Castiel for good, or knowing that he’s out there willingly.

“I saw him leave last night,” Jack says, somber, just as the clock on the wall strikes 5:30. His pajama bottoms pool at his feet, the circles under his eyes significantly lighter than when Dean last saw him. Color brightens his cheeks.

Wary, Dean watches him, not even bothering to dry his eyes. “Yeah?” he starts, gruff. “He say why?”

“He needs… time, I guess.” Shrugging, Jack seats himself at the kitchen table, both hands clasped together. Stilted, but like he belongs there all the same. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he was persistent. He said he needed to think, but wouldn’t say what about. I’m… sorry I can’t help you more. I wish I knew myself.”

“Not your problem, kid,” Dean sighs. For now, he abandons his coffee and crosses the room, clapping Jack’s shoulder along the way. “Just wish he’d’ve woken me up. Figured this is something we’re supposed to talk about, after all this…” He stops, rubs his eyes again. “He should’ve told me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says. Dean just squeezes his shoulder tighter before letting go, not entirely sure what to do next. “I know all he wants is to be here, but he wanted to make it easier for you. For all of us, if he just wasn’t here for a while.”

Involuntarily, Dean clenches his fist. “How is that supposed to make anything better?” he snaps. It’s too early in the morning to start yelling, and at Jack, no less. He doesn’t know any better, and he certainly doesn’t need to put up with Dean’s abandonment issues. Taking a breath, he continues, “Did he say anything about texting?”

“Texting?” Jack parrots, blinking. “I don’t see why that wouldn’t be a problem.”

 _Good_. He can still talk to Castiel then, even if it’s one sided.

“He worries about you,” Jack admits, just as Dean makes it to the threshold. As much as he wants to, he doesn’t turn—doesn’t think he could face Jack, not like this. “I think that’s why he left, like he did. He didn’t want to hurt you.”

A hand to the door jamb, Dean shakes his head, willing off the unease in his stomach. “Yeah, well, he did anyway.”

-+-

3:02 > seriously? you’re just gonna leave like that?  
3:02 > i thought i knew you better than that, cas  
3:03 > but i guess you’re still the same ass you’ve always been  
3:12 > i’m sorry, please answer me  
3:14 > at least tell me where you are

-+-

Castiel doesn’t pull up to the Econo Lodge in Dyersburg until six in the evening, long after the sun has set, the light no longer straining his eyes. Card key in hand, Castiel lets himself into his room, a single on the second floor, overlooking the side streets and US-412 in the distance. He wrinkles his nose at the smell of bleach in the bathroom, but otherwise ignores it, setting his bag by the dresser.

For a long, long while, all he does is sit at the foot of the bed, hands on his knees, toes curling in his boots. If he could, he would keep driving, possibly until he hit the coast, and then north. If he had a passport, he could make it to Canada and head west. No matter where he goes, he’ll always find water, an inescapable boundary—and no matter where he goes, Dean will always find him. Somehow, someway.

Until night falls, he has to keep moving. The seven-hundred mile gap he put between himself and Lebanon should be enough for tonight; tomorrow is an entirely different story.

He doesn’t open up his phone until he’s undressed and washed the day’s sweat from his skin. Down to his boxers and a night shirt, Castiel plugs his phone into the bedside outlet and holds down the power button, waiting for it to boot back up. What he finds after the home page loads deflates his chest, both in anger and exhaustion. Two texts from Sam, three from Jack, and fifteen from Dean, all decreasingly angry, bordering on defeated.

4:39 > i’m tired of you running out man  
4:40 > just please, tell me what i did wrong  
4:40 > just let me know you’re not dead at least  
5:17 > your show is taping tonight, do you want me to cancel it  
6:02 > please

Castiel glances over to the clock, the blinking red numbers reading 6:05. Almost thirteen hours since he left, then. Even with the distance between them, he’s still in the same time zone, now closer to eastern than central. He could reply, could entertain Dean for a few minutes, but now, he can’t bring himself to do even that. The phone feels like acid in his hands, Dean’s words blurring together; he blinks, gathers himself. _I’m sorry, but I had to do this_ , he aches to say. _It’s not your problem. I made a deal_.

A deal Castiel wishes he could renege on, wholeheartedly. Just thinking about it makes him flush, fear rising into his chest, robbing the air from his lungs. The closer he is to Dean, the more he begins to worry, if this is the last time. If he gave in, allowed himself one moment of pure, unbridled joy, would that be his last breath? Watching the light die from Dean’s eyes might as well be his own personal hell, knowing all he did was for naught—knowing that despite everything, they could never enjoy each other in the way they were meant to.

 _I had to leave because I love you_ , Castiel starts to type, but deletes it and tosses the phone to the other side of the bed, face down.

No more texts come through until around midnight, after he shuts off the lamp on the nightstand. A streetlamp illuminates the room through a slit in the curtains, the thin sliver landing square on the opposite wall. Cars idly pass on the interstate, enough of a drone to lull him into a partial sleep, fear never letting him fall completely under. Grace keeps him alert enough to hear his phone buzz every few minutes, new and missed messages vibrating the blankets. White light shines through the sheets with every new text, and Castiel watches it with guilt in his heart. _I should’ve just stayed home_ , he thinks, pinching his eyes shut. _At least there, I could’ve pretended everything was normal_.

Another text comes in, and groggily, Castiel reaches for his phone, swiping open the messages tab without even bothering to read beforehand.

11:52 > why are you in tennessee  
11:52 > did you find something more interesting than us  
11:53 > don’t tell me you have another family lined up  
11:56 > if you didn’t want me to find you, you should’ve turned your gps off  
11:57 > you’re lucky i’m too hammered to get in the car right now  
11:59 > i hate you so much  
12:08 > i thought we had something

 _We did_.

Castiel doesn’t bother drying his eyes when he replies, the words misshapen in his vision.

12:09 < The streetlamp is keeping me awake.

He shuts off his phone before Dean can reply, and tosses it somewhere close to his bag. Tomorrow, he’ll head east, or north—somewhere far away, where Dean can’t find him. Where, as long as he thinks about it, Dean won’t hurt anymore, and neither will he.

-+-

Dean gets a text at the Love’s Travel Stop in Ozark, his cellphone rattling on the dash and falling into the passenger footwell. He nearly drops the nozzle in his haste to place it into the tank, ending up with gas on the leg of his jeans in the process. Launching himself through the window, he grabs for the phone and flips it open, two messages displayed across the screen.

2:07 < The more rural I find myself, the fewer gas stations allow you to flush toilet paper.  
2:08 < You should travel south more often. It’s beautiful here.

South. Castiel isn’t in Tennessee anymore, then. Dragging himself out of the window, Dean leans against the side of the car and looks over the messages. Around him, semi-trucks downshift and travelers chat at the pumps, a few of them leaving to buy food inside. Envious, his stomach growls, begging for something other than vending machine crackers and beef jerky.

2:09 > you having fun?

The nozzle clanks; Dean replaces it in the rack and grabs his receipt off the machine.

Another text doesn’t come in until seventy miles south, thanks to dwindling cell signals in the endless, winding forest around him. Castiel’s GPS pings somewhere in western Louisiana, but nowhere identifiable.

3:32 < A storm is coming in off the Gulf. I can smell the salt.

 _Fuck_.

“Never gonna find him like this,” Dean mutters to himself, easing up on the accelerator. Almost nine hours on the road, and Castiel is still a few ahead of him, traveling in no direction in particular. And partly, Dean wants to let him go, just to see where he’ll end up. The other half of him can’t, though, no matter how hard he tries. Whatever is wrong with Castiel, whatever forced him to leave, they can work it out, as long as Dean can intercept him somewhere, or their paths cross entirely by chance.  

It won’t happen if he tries to force it. Castiel could change paths at a moment’s notice, and Dean would just be driving into the wind. An idea crosses his mind, disheartening as it is to even consider—just drive. Drive until they find each other.

Drive until he forgets the world.

3:40 > you ever see the sunrise in texas, cas?

-+-

For what feels like weeks, Castiel travels. He collects postcards and the occasional keychain whenever he stops at gas stations, and sleeps either in the cheapest motel he can find or in the front seat of the Ram at rest stops, listening to the sound of cars passing on the interstate. Not that he has to sleep, but it helps sometimes, just to pass the time.

Tonight, he reclines against the passenger armrest, listening to the rain ping off the roof, thunder sounding in the far-off distance. Water pours down the windshield, washing out one of the two streetlamps in the entire parking lot. This time of night, he can barely hear any passersby, not this far off the highway, tucked between the trees and the lone restroom. His breath turns to mist in the air, and futilely, he pulls the blankets tighter, anything to stave off the chill.

Sleep doesn’t come easily anymore, not with the guilt weighing him down. Every day almost, Dean tells him that Jack misses him, that Sam is getting more antsy with his duties as the new leader without him—but never once does he say what he desires. Sometimes, Castiel wonders, if Dean will ever truly admit just what he wants, just what’s on his mind. Given the current circumstances, though, he laments the thought of even approaching the subject of… whatever this is between them. Lust, love, admiration, whatever it is, it bores a sour hole into his gut, knowing that this is the one thing he can’t have.

No matter how much he longs for Dean’s touch, never again can he allow himself to feel, to hope. To love.

1:32 >  u up?

With a shivering hand, Castiel pulls the blanket over his head and curls toward the back of the bench, away from the streetlamp’s light. Dean’s name flashes across his screen again, with a frowning emoji. Castiel yawns, swipes the window open.

1:33 < It’s raining.  
1:33 > it just started snowing here  
1:34 > we got home thirty minutes ago, been bent over the toilet since

Castiel frowns at the message, lip between his teeth.

1:34 < What did you do?  
1:35 > nothing. you ever walk into a building and all you smell is decomp?  
1:35 < I can imagine.  
1:37 > found a band of ghouls digging up an entire cemetery  
1:37 > not just old bodies, but fresh ones, no grass on the plots  
1:37 > killed em all, but i still can’t get the smell outta my nose  
1:38 > every time i think about it, i lose it

Violently, Castiel shivers, curls in closer. At the least, he could turn the car on, but running the engine would only deplete the last bit of gas he has. The next gas station is still a few miles away, if he can make it that far; if not, he has two cannisters in the bed, just in case. Clothed and sheltered as he is, his fingers refuse to type any longer, no matter how hard he tries.

 _I shouldn't_ , he thinks, but does anyway, almost on instinct—for the first time in a month, Castiel calls him.

“Probably not the best time,” Dean grounds out when he answers, sounding just as haggard as Castiel feels. “Unless you wanna hear me hurl.”

“We can talk about something else,” Castiel says instead. He places the phone on the seat and hits speaker, rubbing his hands together in the interim. “How long has it been?”

“Thirty-seven days,” Dean supplies. Something thunks on the other end, probably Dean’s head against the bathroom wall. “Not that I’ve been counting or anything.”

“I can’t apologize enough. You know that.”

“No, I get it,” Dean sighs. “Believe me, sometimes, all I wanna do is run off too. Sometimes it’s just easier to drive than to face your problems, but… We got problems, Cas. We all got problems, but the last thing we need to do is split up right when it starts getting tough.”

“You think I don't know that?” Castiel pinches his eyes shut, breathes through his nose. “Dean, I… I did something, something you wouldn’t approve of. And the entire reason I can’t stay is because of those consequences, of knowing that if I allow myself one moment of happiness—”

“You sayin’ something hexed you?” Dean asks, his voice even rougher now, concerned. “You know if—”

“It’s not a curse,” Castiel clarifies. “Not… entirely.”

“The shit does entirely mean? Cas, if something’s coming after your ass, you know I wanna be right there to gank the thing. What aren’t you telling me?”

Shaking his head, Castiel just sinks into the seat, willing the storm to devour him. Rain pours on, thunder sounds—all he wants to do is sleep, to take back his words and the call, and everything in between. “In exchange for Jack’s soul, I made… a sacrifice. My life for his.”

“Cas, you—”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Castiel hisses. “If anything, Jack deserves to live more than me. He’s just a child, and I’ve outlived my time. Nobody is meant to live for eternity—"

“Don’t give me that shit,” Dean spits, and Castiel just glares at the phone. “You can beat yourself up all you want, but you think I don’t wanna die too? You think it’s easy, going to bed every night and fantasizing about what it’d be like if you weren’t alive? If you could just slit your own throat and let God sort it out, if you could just stop being a fucking burden to every person you ever meet, you think I don't know that?”

“Dean—”

“No, I’m talking now. If you don’t give enough of a damn about your own life, then I’m gonna, because someone around here has to care.” He stops, sucks in a wet breath. “Damnit, Cas, whatever it is, I’m not gonna let you do this alone. So I don’t care if you’re dying, or someone’s gunning for your head, but we’re gonna fix this, you hear me?”

Castiel swallows, buries his face in the seat. _I never should’ve called_. “I have a price on my head, set by a creature you can’t even fathom knowing how to kill. The moment I allow myself to become content in my life, to… actually enjoy myself, it’ll yank me back into the ether. I’m not going back there, not if I can help it—”

“The Empty?” Dean asks, a question disguised as an accusation. “You’re letting this thing call the shots—”

“It was my life, or Jack’s.” In frustration, Castiel sits up, ripping the blanket off and tossing it into the footwell. The storm rages on, stronger now, probably influenced by his grace seeping free. “I can’t fight it, Dean. I don't know how to fight it, but the only way I can keep it away is if I take myself out of the equation. I can’t let—I don’t want to die. Because if I die, it wins, but no matter what I do—”

“We can stop it,” Dean cuts him off. He groans, probably standing. “Whatever we gotta do, we gotta do it together. Just… come home. Come home, or I’ll meet you somewhere, but just… We need each other. I need you, Cas.”

“I know,” Castiel says, his exhale shaking. “I know.”

-+-

Dean finally catches wind of Castiel in La Junta—or, rather, happens upon his car parked at the Red Lion Hotel while just passing through. Same tags, same stupid sticker in the back window, same busted taillight he never got to fix before Castiel hightailed it across the country. Forty-one days apart, and every one of those is another day lost finding Michael—and, another with Castiel in the wind, with nothing but texts to get Dean by.

Until now. On a whim, he stops and parks next to Castiel’s Ram, shutting off the engine. This early in the day, Castiel is the only occupant of the entire motel, presumably in the only room with the windows drawn closed. For a few minutes, Dean sits and listens to the engine tick, crackling in the cold. Nothing moves behind the curtain, no sign of shadows, or even the noise of the heating unit running by the window. For all he knows, he could be wrong, and Castiel might not even be there.

But in the off chance he’s actually right, he can’t let Castiel go again. Now, Dean needs him more than ever.

He slams the driver’s side door as he exits, not even bothering to keep quiet. Through the door, Dean hears the faint noise of the television, but nothing else; hopefully, someone is there, even if it isn’t Castiel. Three taps to the wood, and Dean listens. “Know you’re in there,” he says, knocking again. “C’mon, man, don’t be like that.”

“It’s not locked,” Castiel says from the other side.

Before he can even bother to think, Dean bolts into the room, doorknob nearly flying out of his hand in his haste. On the bed, Castiel sits with his back to the headboard, legs under the blankets while he watches The Lone Ranger, black-and-white picture and all. “Taking a day off?” Dean asks before he close the door, nerves still firing. Castiel is here—almost a month and a half, and they’re together again, separated by mere feet.

With mournful eyes, Castiel turns his attention back to the television, both hands now in his lap, neatly folded. Dean joins him in time, after slipping his shoes off and dropping the Impala’s keys onto the table. The bed sags under their joined weight, and Castiel jostles a bit, but Dean finds his way to Castiel’s side. Not quite touching, but close enough for Dean to feel the heat pouring off him, like old times.

Like they weren’t just separated for weeks.

Silence has always grated on Dean’s nerves, ever since he was a child, left in motel rooms against his will and in the backseat of multiple cars. Always tinged with the threat of violence, of death lingering around every corner. Sitting next to Castiel feels no different; the words sit on his tongue, but Dean can’t bring himself to speak, to even begin to console either of them. What he comes up with does little to ease the growing distance between them.

“I get it, y’know, the whole…” Dean waves his hand aimlessly. “Just, I get it. God knows I’ve done the same thing before, without a second thought. But you gotta tell us, man. If not me, then Sam.”

“I didn’t want to ruin everything we’ve built,” Castiel says, solemn. “I thought I could help, for all of us, but now I’m just… trapped.”

Swallowing, Dean covers the blankets over Castiel’s thigh with his hand, bunching up the fabric. “I know. Believe me, Cas, this ain’t something I’d wanna get wrapped up in either. It just feels like… every time we get somewhere good, something comes along and fucks it up.”

Castiel nods, looks down to his hands. “We were never meant to live normal lives. Yet somehow we’ve become… irrevocably bound despite our circumstances.”

“All of us?” Dean asks, wary. His palms sweat, hand flexing atop Castiel’s thigh.

A breath, and Castiel covers Dean’s hand with his own. Dean’s heart stops for the briefest of seconds, tongue thick in his mouth. _No_. “All I’ve wanted is to stay by your side,” Castiel explains. “Even then… I don’t know if that would force the Empty to reap me. But it would be close enough.” Fingers thread together; Dean might vomit. “The happiest I’ve ever been has always been with you, but even then, I can’t shake how miserable it is, to know that despite everything, we’re always bound to hurt each other.”

“We don’t have to, though,” Dean blurts, hating how desperate he sounds.

Gracelessly, Dean moves to straddle Castiel’s waist, both hands pressed into the headboard on either side of his face; Castiel stares up at him, terror in his eyes. This, this is all he’s ever wanted, within his grasp, and he can have it. _They_ can have it, if only they would let themselves. “We’re always gonna hurt each other,” Dean begins. “You think anybody’s ever had a healthy relationship? We’re gonna bitch and cuss and scream, but what we have, it ain’t gonna die. What we got here,” he pauses to touch Castiel’s chest, fingertips pressing over his heart, “no… cosmic entity or whatever, can take away from us. You get me?”

“I wish I could share your faith,” Castiel says, glancing down. Dean forces him to look up, a hand to his chin. Not forceful, but a nudge. “I’m tired of dying, Dean. Of suffering, of wondering if this time is the last I’ll ever see you. You understand, why I can’t… allow myself, why I can’t—”

“Bullshit,” Dean hisses, and drags Castiel forward into a kiss.

The world doesn’t stop. Planes don’t fall from the sky, the sun doesn’t burn out, and nothing tries to drag them both down to hell, just for old times’ sake. Nothing about it is the best kiss Dean has ever had—Castiel tastes too much like toothpaste and day-old coffee, and his lips barely move—but it exists, and he’ll take whatever he can get. Slowly, though, Castiel loosens in his grasp and cups Dean’s nape, dragging him in, again and again, until sweat begins to prickle behind his ears.

“I never expected that we’d settle down and have some suburban romance,” Dean says, pulling back to kiss along Castiel’s jaw. “Not some Hallmark movie crap. That’s the kinda shit that gets you yanked.”

“I wanted more, though,” Castiel admits. Rather than return his kisses, Castiel just holds him, digging his nails into the back of Dean’s jacket. “I thought this, being with you, would kill me, but… I’m still here.”

“Because you know how this goes.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of Castiel’s eye. “All we’re gonna do is destroy each other, and we’ll find our way back just to do it again. But we’re still gonna be together, you hear me?” Together, he joins their hands, squeezing tight. “We’re gonna do this together. And I swear to God, if anyone tries to hurt you, they’re gonna have to go through me.”

“How can you be so sure?” Castiel asks, wet-eyed, and Dean just kisses him, swallowing his fear.

“I have faith,” Dean says. “I’ve always had faith in you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This took WAY too long but here's a coda before the midseason finale! I hope you like it! I have the Holiday Mixtape coming up, and another fic that I really wanna finish, so I should... work on those, yes? I hope? ;A;
> 
> Title is from the Enya song. 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
